In the Dead of Night
by L. Psuedonym
Summary: December 2013. The Croatoan virus is becoming inescapable. Invited into camp Chitaqua after a nearly deadly altercation with survivors of the viral apocalypse, Dean and Cas attempt to help rebuild a semblance of the world they were prepared to die for. Camp politics become tense, and the resident angel disappears.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first Supernatural Fanfic. I tend to like End!verse characterization because I think there is a lot of uncharted ground and speculation to play with, plus Cas is just too damn cute. Poor thing. The first chapter isn't very long, I'm sorry. **

**Title: **In the Dead of Night

**Summary:** December 2013. The Croatoan virus is becoming inescapable. Invited into camp Chitaqua after a nearly deadly altercation with survivors of the viral apocalypse, Dean and Cas attempt to help rebuild a semblance of the world they were prepared to die for. Camp politics become tense, and resident angel disappears.

**Rated:** T for now…Could become M.

**Obligatory disclaimer:** None of this is mine. It belongs to Eric Kripke and Co.

Prologue

"_**Oh so we started torturing again? Classy."**_

**-2009 Dean, Season 5 Episode 4: The End**

_Castiel, Angel of the Lord didn't whimper, didn't cower…did not feel true pain. _

_Cas, the exoskeleton of an angel_ whimpered_ quietly, turning his face away from his aggressor in an attempt to stifle the sound. He was not going to give them the satisfaction –he was not. "__I am in pain and distress; may your salvation, O God, protect me," Pslam 69:29 fell quietly from the angel's bloodied, swollen lips, an enochian whisper of a prayer. He didn't know if his Father would answer or not, but there was comfort in those familiar words. _

_ It wasn't lost on his tormentor. "He doesn't care __**Cas**__," the man spat, grabbing the angel's jaw roughly, forcing Cas to look into his sneering face. "And even if he did…why would he care about __**you**__?" The man ran a thumb along Castiel's chin, purposefully dragging his finger through a trickle of blood. "It's time you understand the pain of being mortal." _

_ Despite himself, Cas trembled slightly, pain and exhaustion bringing his vessel to its physical limits. He couldn't heal. His wrists ached against his bonds, strung up tightly above his head. "Dean…"_

_ "Shut __**up**__!" Castiel's head was snapped to the side with frightening force. "I'm getting tired of hearing you __**talk**__, angel boy. I wanna hear you __**scream**__." _

Somewhere outside of Detroit, Sam Winchester bolted awake, skull pulsating with the pain of his vision. It wasn't a vision he was unfamiliar with. For the third time that week, he attempted to warn Dean, but with no success. This time, however, his own cell phone had no service. Cell towers apparently didn't last long during an apocalypse.

SPN

The power shut off, blanketing their world into blackness and confirming what Bobby, Dean, and Cas had already presumed –the Croatoan virus had advanced. Souix Falls was going berserk, one at a time, then a few at a time. There was no cure, there was no stopping it.

After that, events had escalated quickly. Castiel's angelic ability had allowed him some vision in the dark, and he managed to collect the flash lights, giving one to Dean then to Bobby. Castiel disappeared briefly –seconds. When he returned, his face was grave. "We can't stay here, Dean. It's futile."

"We need to hunt for survivors-!" Dean's protest was cut short.

"There are none. Not this time."

"Cas-"

"I checked everywhere, Dean." The angel's voice was severe, low. Castiel, although learning how to lie, was terrible at it. And there was no lie in these words. "We need to leave. Now." A flash light beam glared in Castiel's face. The angel didn't even blink, unfazed. "Time is a luxury."

He reached his fingers towards Dean and Bobby's foreheads, but was cut short by a curt slap. Dean growled warningly, "Cas…what about Baby?"

The angel's shoulders sagged with an impatient sigh. "Dean…it's too dangerous; the roads are …..thin sheets. You said so yourself-"

"Sheet ice, Cas!"

"Precisely," Castiel persisted.

Dean glowered darkly, unyielding. "Dude. I am not leaving without my Baby. Bobby, back me up, here."

The grizzled hunter gave a slow sigh. "Feathers has a point Dean. He can shazam us out of here…."

"Unbelievable." There was a jingle of metal as Dean stubbornly slipped his keys from his coat pocket. A crashing sound was heard outside; glass shattered, and then loaded silence. "Uh, Cas…"

The angel was gone.

Bobby guessed Castiel's intentions before Dean. "We should shield our eyes…just in case." Getting the hint, Dean mirrored the older hunter, throwing an arm over his face and ducking his head. The windows exploded, and painfully bright white light purified the darkness. Searing screams penetrated the air. Dean had underestimated the amount of angel left in the…well, angel.

Cas was clearing the way. He reappeared. "We need to keep moving," the angel growled, voice more urgent. "Go. Now."

Fumbling outside in the darkness, Dean unlocked the car, blinking back the sleet like rain that stung his face like pins and needles. There was a crack as the ice shattered on the hinges. It was a typical storm for the Dakotas. It was also the typical Winchester brand of luck.

Something soft yielded under Dean's foot, unlike the frozen ground. Looking down, the hunter jerked his foot back distastefully. "Now that's just gross. Couldn't keep the body count away from Baby, Cas?"

He angel frowned impatiently. "My apologies," he muttered, rolling his eyes skyward, anything but remorseful.

"You're using sarcasm now?" Dean raised his brows disbelievingly.

Cas crossed his arms, leveling the young hunter with a blue glare –a characteristic Castiel pout. "What is it you humans say?...oh yes, if the boot fits."

Dean snorted derisively, pausing with the car door hanging open. He shook his head. "I don't mean to ruffle your angelic feathers, but you keep saying these phrases, and I don't think you know what they mean."

Castiel turned away, glaring into the icy darkness. "My feathers are pristine, Dean."

Sitting in his wheelchair, grumpily waiting for an opportunity to be helped into the Impala, Bobby had heard enough. "You two idgits can argue over the toilet seat later, just get moving."

Silence.

"Bobby I don't understand-"

"Can it, Cas!" Dean demanded crossly, patience running thin.

A few moments later, the three of them were seated in the Impala. Cas was sulking in the back seat, crushed beside Bobby's wheel chair. His eyes flickered anxiously as he scrutinized the windows with angelic detail. The ignition turned and Baby whirred into life. The windshield wipers swiped harshly, sloshing the icy mess from Dean's view.

Dean hit the gas. The wheels spun on the ice.

"This is a bad idea." Cas voiced exasperatedly. "We tried it your way, now-"

Dean manipulated the steering; giving the wheels traction and the Impala tore up the ground before starting through the junk yard.

Cas pressed his lips together, biting back further complaints. "I'll keep the pathway clear."

**Chapter 1**

For once, Dean didn't have a plan. In all those zombie horror movies, everyone tries to get to the CDC. A cure exists. You just have to find it. Protect it.

The hunter laughed wryly; encouraged by Castiel's tilt of the head and curious, yet reprimanding, expression. "Cas, you need to see a Romero film…or watch more T.V.."

The angel sighed wearily. "It doesn't appear as though we will have electricity in the future, Dean."

"At least someone has some vision," Bobby muttered from the front seat.

Cas leaned back behind the driver's seat, impatient, cramped, annoyed and feeling very…human. "Stop the car."

"Come again?"

"Stop the car," the angel insisted. "It's cramped back here." He didn't know if it was the feeling of being trapped in a mortal skin or the exhaustion of his Grace…or a mixture of the two. He was a soldier of Heaven –or was, but this was outside his experience. Lately everything was outside of his experience.

They need to read a suitable stretch of highway to make camp before dark. Feeling pressed for time, Dean denied his request. "Go fly around or something."

There was silence.

"I can't…." Cas's full lips pressed into a distressed line. "My vessel is…tired." He drew a deep breath, uncharacteristic of an angel who was rarely aware of the human need to breathe.

Dean slowed the Impala, pulling onto the side of the road beside a disheveled Ford Taurus that had clearly seen much better days before it was abandoned, rotting in the ditch. "You refuel or whatever, Cas. I'm going to refuel Baby." Castiel tentatively touched the door handle, but had no time to open it as Dean was already free of his seat and pulling the rear passenger door open. "Come on, fresh air. Now."

Standing outside of the Impala Cas rolled his shoulders stiffly, staring down the road. It was dotted with wreckage…abandoned cars, over turned semi-trucks. Dean had not needed to stop at a gas station for quite a few days, which was just as well. Syphoning gasoline was proving to more than supply Baby's need for fuel, which was admittedly worse than the more modern machines.

Bobby watched the surrounding cars. Had he had the full capacity of his legs, he would have been salvaging them for anything useful.

Cas allowed himself to feel the chill of the wind on the vessel's pale skin, which was surprisingly refreshing. For the first time, he felt the pinprick, frigid thrill of goose-bumps spotting flesh. An involuntary shudder contracted his muscles, lost on the two hunters. "There's an ambulance ahead."

Dean looked up, cold hands tightening the gas cap on Baby. It would take time to scavenge supplies…Cas wouldn't know what he was looking for, and Bobby wouldn't be any help. He could barely see the white box and red cross in the distance. Castiel still had his angel sight.

However, Castiel's mojo was draining at an alarming rate and as much as Dean didn't want to admit it, the angel was soon going to be good for nothing more than cheap tricks. He couldn't shoot, not well. He would constantly be in danger.

He also was unable to heal others, and there was an unspoken realization that soon he would no longer be able to heal himself.

Gathering more medical supplies would not be a mistake. "Let's go check it out, Feathers." Dean clapped Cas lightly on the shoulder, drawing him into walking beside him. "Bobby, stay in the car! We'll be back!"

Bobby grimaced. It wasn't as though he could easily go anywhere else. "Balls," he muttered under his breath. "Those idgits."

Dean's quick strides kept him well ahead of the smaller framed, ever stoic angel. Cas finally was forced to put up a light jog to keep at the hunter's side. It was strange, being forced to increase his movements to keep up with a human being. It was as exhilarating as it was alarming, feeling the icy air filling up his lungs. That was new.

They reached the ambulance in 10 minutes time. It was oddly intact, doors closed. Walking around to its front, pistol drawn, Dean warily examined the interior through the busted, bloodied windshield. The remains of what had most likely been human (once upon a time) grinned a toothy, fleshless grin at him from the driver's seat. "Awesome." Dean scowled disapprovingly, in disgust. "Cas?"

"Something's alive in the back." The angel was standing, staring interestedly at the locked double doors. A bicycle chain and lock –which was probably the closest thing anyone could find, was looped around the handles, preventing escape.

Dean noted the discarded bike several yards away, leaning unwanted against an equally abandoned car. He contemplated walking away…but they needed these supplies, before more vultures showed up.

"Don't move," A voice cautioned with more calm than Dean felt comfortable with, and it was a pretty uncomfortable situation regardless. Freezing, the hunter glanced at Cas silently imploring the angel not to move or do anything heroic. Normally he wouldn't have much to worry over…Cas had always had the uncanny, but handy, ability to heal himself of bullet wounds –or any wound. However, at this point, he was betting that catching a bullet could be enough to set the angel back, if not place him in the ground. Unbidden images of Castiel covered in blood, blue lipped and pale rushed to the surface of his mind.

"Cas…" Dean warned slowly. "Don't. Move."

Cas watched Dean, holding perfectly still. Dean was not even sure those huge blue eyes were blinking, confused but unafraid.

_To be continued…._

**Yup, cliff hanger. Love it, right? I'm going to attempt to update every other week, pretty regularly. Although I may update sooner if time is provided. **

**Please review, thank you! **


	2. Chapter 2: Contaminated

**Alrighty, here is chapter 2! Sorry it is so late. I have a lot on my plate – spend a lot of time traveling lately, and then I got a bad case of writer's block due to exhaustion. BUT my muse woke up a little bit, and here is what it inspired. Hopefully you enjoy it, and please if you enjoy it, or even if you hate it, drop in a quick review. They're happy-making. **

**Also, even though I was absent for a while, I made up for it with this really long chapter! :) I'm not all bad!**

**If you recall, this was left at a bit of a cliffhanger; here is what happens next. **

**Chapter Two**

Contaminated

"_Next to Sam, you and Bobby are the closest things that I have to family –that you are like a brother to me." –Dean, Season 6_

In Detroit, in an abandoned apartment complex that had seen marginally better days, Sam curled in on himself on the old mattress, trying his best to shove back the images stinging his subconscious. Castiel was helpless; lost. He may have completely given up…the young hunter couldn't be certain. The angel's whimpers of pain cut through Sam's thoughts with each wheezing breath Cas forced himself to take around a flailing chest.

_Castiel buried his head in Dean's coat, pressing it to the hunter's chest, refusing to look at the circle of bright flame encompassing them both. "Dean…it isn't going to work. Please, don't make me do this, I beseech you….." Fatigued and nagged with pain, Cas couldn't stop the beginnings of a noticeable tremor from shaking his vessel. Epinephrine surged through veins, the borrowed body tingling, throwing itself into overdrive. _

_Wordlessly, the hunter started to stand, scooping up the rest of the battered angel, cradling him protectively against his chest. Despite his diligent movements, Dean couldn't avoid pressing on displaced, agonized ribs. Castiel's tremors increased, dithering between fleeing and fighting. "I thought you trusted me, Cas." The angel murmured something tiredly into Dean's shirt. It sounded vaguely Enochian. "Speak up," Dean ground out, evening Cas' weight in his arms as gently as he possibly could. _

_Castiel was praying, praying for help. _

Sam had never heard Cas beg for anything. Dean's wrecked, lonely face filled Sam's vision. _"Don't you dare given up on me Cas! Not you too!"_

_ The angel's fingers contracted, digging into Dean's shirt –a silent, unbidden plea for comfort. _

Sam groaned, rubbing his temples tensely with a trembling hand. Reaching over to the shabby duffel beside his makeshift bed, the young hunter popped the cap on some ibuprofen, consuming four tablets without water. His visions were always real…having already happened or happening, or bound to happen. His head was throbbing; like it was going to implode or explode…he wasn't sure which.

He popped two more tablets for good measure.

Sam sat on the edge of his old mattress. The springs groaned in complaint. The room was dark, desolate and dusty.

He glared at his useless phone, which lay dead –the screen shattered from his frustration. "Castiel," he began desperately. "Castiel…Cas, I don't know if you're listening. Hell, I don't even know if you can hear me anymore." Sam sighed heavily, burying his face in his hands, before leaning his head back, staring at the ceiling. "My visions have been…you're in danger, Cas. Maybe Dean as well…"

Minutes passed. No answer came. Either angel radio was off, or Castiel was finished with him as well. Pain blossomed in his chest, a pain he had tried to hide since this business had started –since he had parted ways with Dean. He was so alone.

Even if Castiel were to actually show up, Sam didn't know if he would be able to look him in the eye.

SPN

Time stood still for seconds…or possibly hours. Dean wasn't certain. Before he could realize it, his feet were moving slowly, wading through the proverbial molasses. His body placed itself directly between Cas, and imminent assault. "You want the ambulance and its supplies, I get that," the hunter countered evenly, "but no one needs to die. Let's put away the guns –chillax for a moment."

Cas narrowed his eyes disapprovingly at the hunter, anxious. "Dean-"he began to chastise. A guardian angel didn't need guarded. He may be fallen, but a large part of him was still a warrior –albeit, in dress slacks. Not that Dean remembered that very often.

"Shut up, Cas," the hunter tossed over his shoulder, green eyes never straying from their attacker. Experience would testify that Dean would like to do nothing better than draw his pistol, push his luck.

However, he would never forgive himself if they put a bullet in Cas.

The angel chewed his lip contemptuously, a thoughtlessly human characteristic. His breath clouded in the frosty air, mixing the light flurries of snow. White flecks dotted his dark, windblown hair.

Dean eyed their adversary carefully. The shotgun he carried didn't quiver in his grasp. He was certain, collected. Dean's gaze shifted to his companions –barely men. The older of the two couldn't have been more than 19 or 20….Wide eyes, quick frosted breaths, and trembling trigger fingers told the hunter they were not only afraid, but completely lacked experience in any sort of combat.

"Where did you serve?" The question was blunt, almost a statement. There was no denying he had experience points.

"Doesn't matter." The reply was cold, disinterested in small talk.

"We aren't infected," Castiel interjected impatiently, tired of the pointless conversation per usual. He was also getting rather annoyed holding his vessels hands in the air, and holding very still was becoming tedious. He was so bothered by the simple acting of being motionless that he did not even notice how unbecomingly human his impatience was.

"Infected people aren't the only problem. A man can't trust anyone in these times. Half of them would rob you as quickly as they look at you. People just look for an excuse to murder." It was a fair enough statement. Looters added insult to the injury of any natural disaster…and an unnatural pandemic wasn't an exception.

"You don't say," Dean muttered darkly, staring pointedly down the barrel of the gun to his face.

If their stalemate had slapped them in the face, it still could not have been more evident.

Reluctantly, the stranger lowered his gun, wary steel grey eyes locked with the hunter's green ones. Dean remained tense, spring loaded for a fight. He lowered his arms, slowly. Cas mirrored him, shoving his hands into the large trench coat pockets.

"What's your name?" The question was gruff, to the point, but Dean accepted it as a gesture of good will. He couldn't remember the last time someone had asked his name before they attempted to dismember and/or shoot his face.

"I'm Dean, Dean Van Halen, and this is Cas," He gestured over his shoulder. The angel stepped forward, attempting to be sociable, although quiet. Assuming the initial pissing contest was over; he gave up a few seconds later and excused himself wordlessly to continue looking over the stranded ambulance. Dean let him go.

Grey eyes sighed quietly, "You can call me Bill." He didn't bother to introduce his companions.

Dean smiled wryly, a small twitch of the lips. He wasn't the only one dealing in false names. "Alrighty, Bill…solid name." Throwing the ambulance a somber, sideways glance, the hunter began to walk away. "It's worthless, anyway. Cas, come on."

The snow started to pick up, swirling in the frigid air. The angel abandoned the ambulance with one last, thoughtful glance, and trotted up beside Dean. "I could purify –"

Bill cast Cas a suspicious glance. Dean cut him off. Cas easily passed as human –well, an awkward human. They were going to keep it that way.

"No Cas, we're leaving." Besides, Bobby was waiting for them. This entire skirmish had taken completely too long. By now, Croats could have picked up their scent and they were vulnerable, and Bobby was hopelessly susceptible to attack. Dean hadn't lost everything, but he had lost quite enough, thank you. He would be damned if he didn't dig in his heels and protect the rest of what he had.

"If you open that ambulance," the hunter turned around, staring at "Bill", "You may not live to regret it. Those supplies are going to be infected...enjoy putting those on your open wounds."

"But he said something about purifying it-"Bill objected, only to be interrupted.

"He's wrong," Dean snapped, clearly indicating this conversation was over. Cas pursed his lips, annoyed.

This was foolish, and wasteful.

Dean continued walking, content to put as much space between the strangers and his family of two. He took some moments to glance at the reflections in the broken windshields and windows of some abandoned cars as he stalked away, surprised and satisfied that they were not being pursued.

The men were still prodding the ambulance, reflected in the glass. "Their mistake," he muttered under his breath. Castiel's expression was incredulous, blue eyes searching Dean's face, but he knew better than to argue.

They had made it as far as the Impala before a blood curdling screech ripped through the cold air. Castiel whipped his head around to the sound; Dean closed his eyes in defeat. He didn't have to look back or ask Cas to know that they had managed to open the ambulance.

"What the hell was that about?" Bobby barked, surly as ever and feeling rather sour about being left behind for so long.

"They opened the ambulance," Castiel confirmed somberly.

"_They?!_" Bobby asked confusedly. "Croatoans?"

"Son of a bitch!" Dean exclaimed, rubbing his hands down his face. Just one lucky break…was that too much to ask for…beg for? Evidently, yes.

Some resounding screeches ricocheted off surrounding cars. Well…whatever hope they had of passing unnoticed by any nearby Croatoans was being lost.

Cas was standing almost completely still, head tilted, calculating and listening. His eyes flickered uneasily. "There are too many. Were I at full capacity, I would not be concerned. However, I am not."

Dean read between the lines. Castiel's angel mojo was dwindling. He had used the majority of what he had left getting them out of Sioux Falls. He couldn't fly again, he couldn't smite things, and he couldn't burn up more virus riddled meat suits without great cost to himself.

"It's alright. We'll find another way," the hunter assured, opening the trunk of Baby, and removing two shot guns. He handed one to Cas. "Guns 101: Point at what you wanna kill, pull the trigger, otherwise this part," he indicated to the muzzle, "stays pointed at the ground."

Cas held it curiously, eyeing it with mistrust.

"You're just going to have to suck it up. Help Bobby." Dean commanded gruffly, starting to walk away.

"I'm fine. Balls! Just don't let Dean get himself in a mess!" the grizzled hunter argued, holding his shotgun, which had already been loaded and convenient. Castiel shut the passenger door, standing outside of it protectively, and assuming guard at his assigned post.

"I'm sorry, Bobby."

"Like hell you are," the man muttered under his breath, wishing to be in the fray –cursing his immobile legs. "You overgrown feather duster."

Cas twitched his lips wryly, perhaps amused –although it was difficult to determine. It was possible he was starting to grasp the Winchester sense of humor, or it was equally likely that he didn't want to die angry.

The odds certainly were not in their favor at this point…although the angel couldn't recall a time when they ever were (and his memory was certainly very thorough).

Thinking of Bobby's useless, listless limbs, the angel felt the bitter bite of guilt nipping at his insides, adding to the uncomfortable sensations he was growing all too accustomed to feeling. Dean was right; he must protect him.

"Bobby…I am under the assumption that this needs to be reloaded after its initial use of approximately 5 rounds," the angel prompted awkwardly. "How do I….?"

Maybe Bobby was right…at this point he was about as useful as an overgrown feather duster, except at least a feather duster could clean things –he wasn't sure how good he would even be at cleaning. Cleanliness was next to Godliness, and he hadn't been very good at being next to God lately, or so he felt.

"Balls!" For the life of him, Bobby never imagined himself teaching a Warrior of God to reload a shotgun. "Idgit…."

Dean was already out of the range of hearing, stealthily darting between cars reminisce of a desert warzone. So far so good…he was unnoticed. Croatoan victims were not your classic Romero zombies… he wasn't even entirely sure they were zombies, but it was the most realistic application of the word "zombie" he could think of. Unfortunately they didn't shamble, they could be clever, and they were fast –supernaturally fast.

So expertly shelling this many was not a feat he felt entirely ready to attempt single handedly. Perhaps if Sam was playing sidekick, they may have a chance, but Sam had other things going on. Sam wasn't here. Sam wasn't going to miraculously appear. Castiel couldn't fetch him, and Dean was not entirely sure he wanted to see him, regardless.

Yeah, he could forget about Sammy, or rather he wished he could.

This was starting to feel too much like a chic-flick. Sam was fine –doing whatever he was doing. And Dean was going to nut up and-

"Son of a bitch," he cursed for a second time. If nothing else, he at least had a colorful vocabulary. One of the infected punched its fist recklessly, if not painlessly, through a car window as it stalked hungrily towards the human dinner entrees. "Cas….you had better not let any of them touch my Baby."

"Why are we merely watching?" A quiet, low voice rumbled over his shoulder. "And Bobby will protect your motor car."

"Dammit Cas! Get your feathery ass back over there! In case you didn't notice, Bobby is handicapped," Dean ordered, startled.

"I thought they preferred the term "Hanicapable"?" The angel deadpanned.

That _smug_ son of a bitch. "Well aren't you just a pack of laughs."

"Bobby ordered I watch over you; he can be very persuasive when he's angry. Also he wanted me to present you with a tactical suggestion."

Dean glowered darkly. "What's that?"

"Blow up the cars."

The sun was starting to set, dusk was setting in. Dean squinted, thinking. "That's like lighting a beacon…moths to a flame and all that. And these aren't stupid, slobbery zombies..."

A wind started to pick up, furious and strangely abrupt. A low whirring sound began to seep into the air. The grass began to lay flat with the turbulence of the upheaving air. Dean crouched lower. Cas remained standing, eyeing their surroundings uncertainly. Wordlessly, the hunter grabbed the angel by the lapel of his trench coat, pulling him into a crouching position at his side. "It's not an angel…" Cas replied softly in reaction to Dean's evident distress.

"No, but it still has wings."

**TBC! **

**Not as much of a cliffhanger as before! But bad enough.**

**Looks as though poor Cas is in for some pain…stop the judgmental glares. You're all crazy and like it. **

**Reviews are appreciated! I'd love some feedback. Obvious flames will be laughed at or disregarded or perhaps used to keep me warm in the cold weather we're having lately. **


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